


In September

by shotofvanilla



Series: See You... [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Character, M/M, blind!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotofvanilla/pseuds/shotofvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Castiel met Dean Winchester, he literally stumbled into him and the first words he heard were, “Hey, watch where you’re going, man.”</p><p>To which Cas lifted his thin white cane, smacked the legs he knew were somewhere in front of him, and wryly replied, “I would if I were able.”</p><p>And that's just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In September

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [En Septiembre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385317) by [HeyDagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyDagger/pseuds/HeyDagger)



> Ah, finally posted! Many thanks to everyone who has read and left lovely comments about this when it was just on tumblr. To any new readers, enjoy!

The first time Castiel met Dean Winchester, he literally stumbled into him and the first words he heard were, "Hey, watch where you're going, man."

To which Cas lifted his thin white cane, smacked the legs he knew were somewhere in front of him, and wryly replied, "I would if I were able."

He still likes to imagine that a deep, embarrassed blush accompanied the string of apologies that followed, although these days he's much more concerned with imagining Dean himself.

Two and a half months after that first meeting, they're sitting in Cas' apartment on a sunny September afternoon, listening to one of Dean's many records and idly drinking beers. Everything is warm and loose and content, and for the first time ever Cas wonders aloud, "What do you look like, Dean?"

There's a short, awkward pause, and then he hears Dean scoff and chuckle a little. "Nothing special man. You're not missing much."

Cas frowns at that. He hasn't seen a human face in almost ten years, but no matter how he tries to imagine Dean, whether he has blond or red hair, or blue or green eyes, he's always imagined Dean to be quite attractive looking. Although he supposes his definition of "attractive" might be a little skewed. "That's not true," he says, certain. "Let me see you."

Dean laughs a little again. "Uh, Cas, I don't know how to break it to you but you're kind of bli-,"

"Not like that," Cas says, leaning forward on the couch to slap Dean's arm. He grins in satisfaction when his hand hits its mark. "Like-just-come here."

He feels Dean scoot over a few inches, the couch dipping a little.

"Closer," he says. Dean obeys, and suddenly Cas can smell the faint scent of car oil and cologne.

He reaches forward tentatively, hands coming to rest on Dean's forearms before making their way upwards. He feels the muscles in Dean's upper arms through his layers of shirts and rounds the curve of his shoulders before stopping at the junction just before his neck.

"Is this okay?" Cas asks. He's whispering, and he doesn't know why.

"Yeah," Dean breathes out. It tickles the air and Cas can feel it faintly flow past him.

Cas' fingers continue their journey up and settle on Dean's chin. He can feel the subtle scratch of stubble as he skims Dean's jawline, trying to commit the angles to memory. He ghosts past Dean's temples and over his brow bone, and then follows the straight line of his nose down to his cheekbones. Tracing the contours of his face, Cas' fingers briefly dance over Dean's closed eyelids and feel the caress of long eyelashes. He makes a second trip over his face, this time in reverse, and as his fingers finally brush over the curved smile of Dean's lips, he reaches his conclusion.

Dean is _gorgeous_.

Cas then feels stupidly self-conscious, acutely aware that he has had no notion of his own appearance for _years_ now. His hair was brown as a child, and his eyes a watery blue, and he knows that he's at least somewhat lean and fit, but other than that he feels woefully inadequate sitting cross-legged in front of Dean. His thumb is still pressed against the corner of Dean's mouth, and to distract himself he asks, "What color is your hair? Your eyes?"

Dean coughs and Cas can feel all of it. "Uh...a sort of light brown?" he says, chuckling a bit. Dean feels beautiful when he laughs, Cas notes. "And my eyes are green."

Green, of course. Cas hasn't seen color for nearly a decade, and for a long time now he's simply stopped caring, but just this once he wishes he could see them again. He pictures a sort of grassy green, bright, with flecks of brown and gold throughout. He outlines the shape of Dean's eyes again and tries to imagine what they look like, sitting on the couch together in his freakishly neat and orderly apartment.

Removing his hands from Dean's face, he asks, tentatively, "And...what do _I_ look like, Dean?"

Dean shifts and scoots even closer. "Shit, Cas, that's like-that's like asking me to describe the-" he breaks off mid-sentence, and then takes a deep breath. "I'm not good with words. You know that. Why don't you ask one of your insane siblings?"

No, it can't be Anna, or Gabriel, or Balthazar, Cas knows. They'd lie to him or make a joke out of it and he's suddenly overwhelmed by the need to _know_. "I don't trust them like I trust you," he says. "Please?"

Dean sighs again, his breath smelling vaguely of beer. He leans in close and starts, "You look good, Cas. Everything's in its proper place, nothing crooked or wonky or anything. You've got a nice peach fuzz starting to come in," he reaches up to stroke Cas' jaw and Cas swats his hand away, laughing. Dean continues, "You have dark brown hair, almost black, and it's never combed or styled properly, although I guess that's not really your fault. And- and you've got good cheekbones and a nice jaw and your eyes are...they're..." he trails off and suddenly his hands are near Cas' face again, this time slowly pulling away the dark sunglasses that shield Cas' sightless eyes.

He feels naked without the glasses. Cas remembers, once, seeing a blind person as a child, those flat, dead, cloudy eyes staring blankly off into the distance. He clenches his eyes shut, terrified.

But Dean's hands are there again, lightly brushing across his eyelids. "C'mon, Cas," he urges, "Open up."

"No," Cas says stubbornly, shaking his head. He starts to move, trying to make an escape from the couch and the charged air that feels too intimate for words.

A hand comes up to stop him, warm on his shoulder. "Please?"

Cas stills and tries to relax. This is _Dean_ , his friend, no, his _best_ friend, who let the blind weirdo feel up his face only minutes ago. If not Dean, who else? He takes a deep breath, and slowly, slowly, allows his eyelids to flutter open.

There's a soft intake of breath, just short of a gasp, and Cas wants to close his eyes again, for all the good it would do him. But Dean stops him again, cupping his face, close enough now that Cas can feel his every exhalation.

"And your eyes, Cas," Dean speaks with a strangely reverent tone, "They're the prettiest blue I've ever seen. Like the ocean, when it's sunny and the light sparkles off of it _just so_. You ever been to the beach?"

Cas nods. "Once, when I was kid, with my family." His heart has started to pick up pace and his stomach is trying to twist itself into knots.

"That's good. Then you know what I'm talking about." There's a smile in Dean's voice. "You're kinda beautiful, actually."

Cas lets out a shuddering laugh and shakes his head in a negative. "Yeah, right. That's not true."

"Would I lie to you, Cas?"

Cas pauses and then shakes his head again. Dean's thumb sweeps over the corner of his eye as he says, "Look, did I tell you about your lips yet?" His fingers now start to travel southward until Cas can feel them tracing the seam of his mouth. "Well, they're pale pink and sorta on the thinner side but they still look very _very_ kissable." The last part comes out in a hush and for a second Cas isn't even sure he heard it.

But he did hear it, which is why he can hear his heart thumping wildly now. He parts and licks his lips, accidentally flicking Dean's thumb in the process. There's a muffled kind of groan and suddenly Dean's voice is right in his ear. "Is this okay?" he asks, mimicking Cas' own words from earlier.

And Cas mimics Dean when he says, "Yeah."

His back is pressed against the side of the couch as Dean surges forward, his lips pressed wonderfully against Cas'. Cas pushes back in equal measure, his hands scrambling for purchase on Dean's arms, and then his shoulders, before finally deciding to trace nonsensical patterns on the back of his neck. His skin is soft under Cas' hands and there's simply too much to hear and smell and taste that Cas feels a little like he's drowning.

Minutes or hours or days later, they're still sitting on the couch, memorizing each other with fingers and lips even though the record player stopped long beforehand.


End file.
